Savin' Me
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: It's been a year since the Klaine breakup. It's summer after their sophomore year in New York. Blaine is in misery. Miscommunication, angst galore with a bit of fluff at the end.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Glee and its characters are not mine, I put them away when I'm done playing with them.

**Author's Notes: **College future!fic. Angst galore. This story is complete in 7 chapters, it will be updated daily.

**Potential triggers: **mentions of self-harming (in one chapter only).

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 1<p>

One sunny morning in June Blaine Anderson looks out the kitchen window over his first cup of coffee. It's going to be a beautiful day in New York – hot but not sweltering, with a gentle breeze. A perfect day for a picnic in the park with someone special. The whole nine yards: checkered blanket, wicker basket full of sandwiches, fresh fruit and lemonade, books to read while cuddling in the shade of that big oak tree when you're too full to move and feel too lazy to talk. Yes, picnic is a fantastic idea.

If you have that special person in your life, of course. Which Blaine hasn't. Not anymore.

He feels miserable. He's been miserable for the last year, but it's the fact that it's been _exactly_ a year today that makes everything darker and heavier than he's used to by now.

_I am in misery, there ain't nobody who can comfort me_ he sings under his breath while rinsing his cup, and regrets it immediately as memory emerges, vivid and crisp – of him and Kurt, both in Dalton uniforms, his head on Kurt's shoulder. It was more than three years ago, even before their first kisses, first _I love you_'s. They became boyfriends not even a week later, beginning the glorious period of love and wonder that Blaine knew to be the best time of his life. It was a time of talking and singing, discoveries and first times, courage and acceptance, dreams and plans. It was supposed to last forever.

It ended entirely too soon, a year ago, in their favorite New York café.

* * *

><p>That day was supposed to be special.<p>

He was meeting Kurt for coffee at four and he was giddy just thinking about it – and not just because they'd hardly seen each other lately, what with their summer jobs and Kurt's constant auditions, so a whole evening and night just to _be together_ sounded like a holiday. The real reason of Blaine's excitement sat before him in a black velvet box.

No, he wasn't going to propose – although he knew they'd get there one day. This particular velvet box contained a set of ordinarily looking keys on a silver keychain. He was going to ask Kurt to move in together.

Due to their parents' insistence they spent the first year of college living separately in dorm rooms. It was supposed to let them actually focus on studying instead of each other and earning the rent. Blaine had a single room so they didn't have to sneak around to have alone time, but between classes, jobs and other commitments it was sometimes hard to schedule dates and sleepovers. They managed, just like they always had, but they both ached for actually living together at last, for everything it included. They wanted to fall asleep and wake up next to each other every day. To cook and eat together, study cuddled on a couch or just in the same room. To be able to find a couple of minutes even in the busiest of days to just talk about everyday stuff or steal a quick kiss. To know that the other would be there, at home, to hug you after a shitty day or celebrate a success, or just share a laugh. To have all those common things that people just don't appreciate after some time together and that for them are precious, because they are so elusive – a pot of fresh coffee in the morning waiting for whoever gets up later, a fleeting touch while passing by on the way to the kitchen, sharing something that just popped into your head without calling or scheduling dates. They dreamed of home together. And Blaine found them a home.

It was a lovely, tiny two bedroom apartment located reasonably close to everything they needed, just perfect for the two of them. The second bedroom would be useful when their parents or friends visited, and in the meantime it would serve as a home office, where they could study comfortably. And it was a real bargain, together they could easily afford rent. They were even allowed to redecorate it within reason. The charming old lady who owned it was more than happy to rent it to a gay couple, so Blaine signed a lease on the spot – he knew Kurt would love this place. They were allowed to move in whenever they wanted, so Blaine hoped that maybe after they had coffee, they could go pack some of their things and actually spend the night at their first apartment together.

* * *

><p>There was still an hour before he needed to go, so he turned his laptop on. In his mailbox, apart from spam and some newsletters, there was only one message, from someone called Paul, titled <em>Has Kurt shown you these?<em>. There were pictures attached. Blaine laughed – was this what he thought it was? A week before, he went with Kurt to a party thrown by Kurt's college class. They got a little drunk and a lot ridiculous, singing duets and dancing on tables together by the end of the evening, and there was a guy – yes, Blaine thought, his name may have been Paul – taking pictures. He must have gotten Blaine's address from Kurt, and sent him the photos. Blaine just hoped they weren't too humiliating. He chuckled at the memory as he clicked the message.

Laughter died in his throat. The e-mail contained pictures all right, but they weren't from the party. Or at least not any party Blaine was invited to.

The first one shown Kurt sitting on a leather couch, his shirt undone, looking up at a handsome blond man standing in front of him. He had a smile on his face, this special smile that Blaine had always assumed was for no one else in the world but him. It was Kurt's bedroom smile, the sexy smirk that made Blaine crazy. The picture was a tiny bit blurred, as if taken with a zoom. And it was not the only one. In the next one the blond man – he was absurdly good-looking, surfer type – was kneeling in front of Kurt, whose eyes were closed. He was touching Kurt's bare chest with a look of reverence on his face. The third one shown the blonde pushing Kurt's shirt off his shoulder with one hand, while the other one was… oh shit, was he unbuttoning Kurt's pants? And Kurt was clearly giving him a sultry look, small smile playing on his lips.

Blindly, Blaine scrolled down the message, dreading the next photos. But the remaining two were completely different. They seemed innocent, yet even more intimate somehow. Kurt was sitting at a table across from the blond man, both holding cups of coffee and laughing. In the last one they were by the door of Kurt's dorm room, the stranger's hand on Kurt's shoulder. It looked as if they'd just kissed.

Blaine stared at the photos for a long while before he chose the first one and sent it to his printer. He couldn't believe Kurt – his Kurt! – would cheat on him. Yet he was pretty sure the pictures weren't manipulated. He felt something wet hit his hand on the desk and realized he was crying.

That was what he'd always feared, ever since they began dreaming of going to New York together – that Kurt would one day realize just how gorgeous he really was, how much better than Blaine he could do here. There were so many gay men around, out and proud, worldly and interesting. So much more attractive than a short, curly-haired singer from Ohio who just happened to be Kurt's first boyfriend.

He knew Kurt might leave him one day. But not like that, not by cheating on him. He wouldn't do that. Would he?

No, there had to be some other explanation.

Scrolling through the e-mail once again, he noticed a line of text at the top that he overlooked at first, when the photos grabbed his attention.

_Has he told you they are in love? Have you noticed? Let him go. Let him be happy._

Oh god.

_Has_ he noticed anything? True, Kurt hardly had any time lately, but it was because of all the auditions, he wanted to finally debut on stage this summer, while there were no classes. _Or that's what he said_ – his mind offered unhelpfully. And they hadn't been intimate for weeks – first there were exams, which meant no time and lots of stress, and now, even though they'd promised themselves a wild summer of love, there always seemed to be something more important than their time together. Even after that party Kurt insisted on returning to their respective rooms, since he had another audition in the morning and wanted to catch at least a couple hours of sleep without distractions. He wasn't exactly distant or anything, he was just… hardly ever there.

Blaine felt anger rising in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. Kurt wasn't cheating. He was not a cheater. There had to be a logical explanation. He would show the printout to Kurt and Kurt would explain it in some innocent way and tease Blaine for his insecurities. They would kiss and have coffee, he would give Kurt the keys and it would bring this amazing happy smile to his boyfriend's face. And then they would move some stuff and stay the night at their apartment for the first time. They would drink wine and make love, and fall asleep entangled in each other to wake up together in the morning, and it would be just the first night of many to come. Yes, that was it. Everything would be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The short walk to the café passed in a kind of daze for Blaine. When he entered, Kurt was already at their usual table with both their coffees waiting, phone in his hand. He looked up only when Blaine sat opposite.

"Oh, hi honey!" His smile was dazzling. Blaine wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss these full lips, but there was something that needed to be cleared first. He didn't return the smile as he took the printout out of his bag and placed it on the table in front of his boyfriend. The moment of truth.

"Kurt? Why didn't I know about this?" His heart sank when he registered the look on Kurt's face. Shock. Guilt. Defensiveness.

"Oh. Where did you get it?"

"It doesn't matter where I got it. Why, Kurt?"

"I… I was going to tell you."

"When exactly?" He felt his temper flaring.

"As soon as I was certain I really want to do it."

"You seem to be pretty certain already" Blaine gestured at the photograph.

"We were just trying it out. I wanted to make sure I'd be okay with all the… um, touching and nudity… before I told you. I didn't know if I could do it. But it turned out to be quite natural for me and we were fantastic. Henri has more experience with this kind of stuff and he taught me some useful tricks." Blaine just gaped at him, frozen, unable to utter a sound. Kurt continued, a little hesitant. "So… are you okay with that? Now that you know?"

Blaine somehow found his voice, but it came out strangled. "Seriously? You're kidding, right? How can I possibly be okay with it? I'd never think that you, of all people, would do something like that, ever!"

"Blaine, it's a chance for me, don't you see? I've wanted it for a long time. Besides, you don't really have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do, you know?" Kurt was getting agitated, his eyes bright. "Did you assume you are the one and only?" he finished with a choked sound and that did it. Blaine stood up so fast that his chair clattered to the floor.

"I don't believe it. I can't believe you could do it to me. But fine. If that's what you want, fine. I'll just go then, you're free to do whatever you want. Goodbye, Kurt. I hope you'll be happy."

There might have been confusion on Kurt's face, or maybe shock, but he didn't care, even when he heard "But… wait, what? Blaine, stop!"

He didn't.

* * *

><p>He ran out of the café, angry tears blinding him. He never looked back.<p>

Blaine didn't remember how he got to his dorm, so it might have been a miracle he didn't get killed in the rush hour traffic as he ran blindly. Once he fell face down on his bed, he just felt numb. _I should feel something now_, he thought, _pain, anger, anything_. There was nothing. His mind just kept repeating Kurt's words over and over.

_I've wanted it for a long time._

_We were fantastic._

_Did you assume you are the one and only?_

Has he been deluding himself? Has Kurt stayed with him so long just out of decency? Pity? Friendship? No, friends are honest with each other. So he's just lost the love of his life _and _his best friend. And he felt nothing. Some weird defense mechanism must have kicked in, so that he wouldn't die of broken heart perhaps.

His phone rang an hour later. Kurt. He didn't pick up. It rang again and again, punctuated by texts coming one by one. Blaine deleted those without looking. What could Kurt say? That he was sorry? That they should stay friends? There was no use talking anymore. In fact, if he was to let Kurt go, he needed to cut all connections, immediately.

He changed the ring tone for Kurt's number so that he wouldn't pick up by mistake. He blocked his ex-boyfriend's e-mail address (holy shit, Kurt was his _ex-boyfriend_, surely it wasn't normal not to be reduced to a crying lump on the floor?). While at it, he deleted all their pictures from his laptop and changed the desktop picture from Kurt's portrait to a cute puppy. There, that was nice. Cheerful.

Then, hardly even thinking about it, he began tossing his belongings into bags and boxes. All Kurt's things he found in his room – some clothes and toiletries, books and sheet music, along with a couple of their pictures he had displayed on his desk – got packed and prepared to be mailed to Kurt's dorm. It took just three hours, a lot of running up and down stairs with heavy loads, and one car ride to move everything to their – no, _his_ – new apartment. At midnight he was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tequila by himself and still feeling nothing. He was prepared to wake up the next day and fully comprehend what happened. Yet the only thing he felt in the morning was a massive hangover. It was as if his emotions were wiped off. No hurt, no anger, no joy. He could live with that.

And he did. He took more singing gigs to fill his days and earn the rent – he decided not to look for a flatmate, solitude suited him, but what was easily affordable for two, became more challenging for one. Still, he managed, people loved him singing and being his charming self if the attendance and the phone numbers he got every time – mostly from girls – were any indication. He worked and then went home. He read, listened to the music, watched movies, ate, slept. He didn't stop to think or reminisce.

* * *

><p>The first breach in his thick armor of numbness appeared two weeks after That Afternoon, as he called it. Kurt stopped trying to call and text him by then and he settled into his new routines. One day he went to the office of his old dorm to check for any messages or post that may have come since his move – he hadn't given his new address to anyone yet, not that many people would be interested. There were two letters waiting for him and when he recognized the familiar, elegant handwriting on both creamy envelopes, intense pain shot through his chest so unexpectedly that he staggered and briefly wondered if that is what heart attack feels like. It lasted just a few seconds though before the welcome numbness enveloped him again and he was able to go back into the office and ask the nice lady to use their shredder because he didn't have one or a fireplace at home and he definitely couldn't read these letters. He was afraid that if he did or allowed himself any other contact with Kurt, he might forget all about the pictures, about letting him go and be happy with someone else, and do something stupid. Like begging him to take Blaine back, perhaps. Possibly begging on his knees.<p>

Days went by after that and his emotions were steadily coming back. Memories attacked him painfully every now and then – when he heard _Teenage Dream_ on the radio, when a guy in his new favorite café ordered a non-fat mocha, sometimes when he woke up in the morning and really _felt_ the emptiness of the huge bed that was one of the factors in choosing this apartment. But worse than that, he was never fully numb anymore. There was a constant ache, a phantom pain of something – somebody – missing, like a piece of his life, his heart, his soul was cut off. It was getting worse every day.

At the end of July he got a call from Rachel, asking him to come by the theatre she was working in to pick up a box of his things that Kurt left there. Blaine couldn't really say no without sounding like a jerk, so he steeled himself, plastered the smiling, charming mask to his face and went. Rachel clearly wanted to talk about Kurt, so Blaine just took the box and made some lousy excuse before he virtually ran out. That may have seemed rude, but he hoped he had been able to radiate _busy_ and _content with his life_, and mostly _not freaking out at all_.

At home, he shoved the box to the back of a high shelf in his closet without opening it and promptly proceeded to get drunk.

The next morning he was welcome by a killer headache and a total lack of the familiar numbness, and while the former passed eventually, the latter was there to stay from then on. And it really wasn't fair, something must have gone wrong in the process, because while all the pain, hurt and regret were back with a vengeance, the good emotions weren't. There was no joy in his life, no happiness, no hope.

Still, he plowed on. He worked, and when summer ended, he studied. Sometimes he met his friends – well, more like acquaintances really – mostly to stop them preaching that he should just move on with his life. He even let them set him up for two dates, both with perfectly charming guys who were doing their best to gain his interest, but his heart wasn't in it.

In January a small theatre company asked them to write music for their next performance after someone heard some of his original songs at one of his gigs. It should make him insanely happy, but there was no one to share the success with, no one to truly understand how big a deal that was. Still, it was satisfying to be appreciated and do something creative.

Time passed.

And now there he is, on the day of the first breakup anniversary. Still hurting, still unhappy, missing Kurt more than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **The song here is Savin' Me by Nickelback.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 3<p>

It's over the second cup of coffee, after spending several hours trying to distract himself, that Blaine admits that he needs to see Kurt. Not in person – he wouldn't dare disturb his new life – just some pictures, to remember the layout of the light freckles on his face, the exact shade of his eyes, the angle of his smile. All the details that have been fading from his memory more and more, stolen by time.

But the only photos he has left are in that damn e-mail that brought them the end, and he won't look at these. Where else can he find some? Asking friends is out of the question – those that he shared with Kurt have mysteriously lost contact with him after they broke up. He could Google Kurt Hummel, he supposes – as creepy as it would be – but he's afraid to find more than he bargained for. For all he knows, Kurt might have debuted successfully on stage by now and the search results may leave him with dozens of pictures from plays and events, Kurt impeccable as always, smiling happily on the arm of the blond surfer guy (_Henri_, his memory supplies). Blaine doesn't think he's quite ready for that.

Then inspiration strikes: the blog!

Back in high school, as a lonely 16-year-old, Kurt started a blog where he could write freely about fashion, his problems, his friends and – eventually – his boyfriend. It was password protected and only a handful of Kurt's closest friends, including Blaine, had access. Kurt stopped updating it long ago, near the end of their senior year, when life got too frantic with the upcoming graduation and college plans, but the last entries were full of photos – New Directions and the two of them, in various combinations and poses, as they tried to save the feeling of an era coming to a close. If Kurt hasn't deleted the blog in the last year, it should all still be there.

Taking a shuddering breath, Blaine reaches for his laptop with a trembling hand. His heart pounds with anticipation. Will it still be there? Will the password work or has Kurt changed it? How will it feel to see his ex-boyfriend again after all this time?

And then there it is. The website is loading, the familiar neutral background just as he remembered it. The pictures should be up in a second.

* * *

><p>Except they aren't. Instead, a new entry with today's date appears. It's short and simple, and it catches Blaine's eye before he can even decide whether he wants to read it or not.<p>

_It's been a year today._

_I still wake up crying, with your name on my lips._

_I still can't move on._

_I still don't know why you left._

_It's getting harder._

_I'm falling._

Wait, what? How…? No, seriously, what?

Blaine scrolls down, but that's it, the end of the entry, apart from a link to some audio content. He presses play and rich guitar tones envelop him. He doesn't recognize the song at first, it's not Kurt's style at all, but then the lyrics begin and he gasps. He knows that song.

_Prison gates won't open up for me_

_On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'_

_Oh, I reach for you_

_Well I'm terrified of these four walls_

_These iron bars can't hold my soul in_

_All I need is you_

_Come please I'm callin'_

_And all I scream for you_

_Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'_

_Show me what it's like_

_To be the last one standing_

_And teach me wrong from right_

_And I'll show you what I can be_

_And say it for me_

_Say it to me_

_And I'll leave this life behind me_

_Say it if it's worth saving me_

_Heaven's gates won't open up for me_

_With these broken wings I'm fallin'_

_And all I see is you_

_These city walls ain't got no love for me_

_I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story_

_And all I scream for you_

_Come please I'm callin'_

_And all I need from you_

_Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'_

The song ends, leaving Blaine shaken and breathless. He feels as if Kurt just reached through his computer screen and squeezed his heart. These words are for him, _just_ for him, they can't apply to anyone else, and they are here, in the abyss of the internet, where normally no one would find them after all this time of the blog's inactivity, and yet by some one-in-a-million chance he did, and he used to believe in fate, he used to be sure, so it has to be fate, there's no other option, he has to do something, what should he do now, _oh my god I'm babbling. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down. I need to think._

Questions swarm his mind, he just doesn't understand. How can Kurt claim he doesn't know why Blaine left? How can he still not be over him? Oh okay, so he isn't over Kurt either, but he didn't sleep with a hot man – or anyone else, for that matter – before they broke up. (Or after. Well.) He didn't fall in love with someone else. Kurt did. He did, right? Because the only way he wouldn't know why Blaine left would be if he never actually cheated. In fact, he would have to be completely unaware of the fact he was even _suspected_ of cheating. But it's clearly impossible, he admitted… Didn't he?

Blaine flashes back to Kurt's face that last time he saw it – the shock, the confusion, so real.

But he admitted to it! He admitted… to something…

If he thinks about it, Blaine can't recall actually asking Kurt straight out if he slept with that guy, if he had an affair, even if it was a date – he assumed it was obvious. And Kurt – he admitted he was going to tell Blaine something, but he never actually said what it was. He spoke about taking a chance, about wanting to do it, being comfortable with touching and nudity…

Blaine feels like he's going mad. He just knows that _Kurt is in pain, right now_, that he posted a song that was basically a plea for help _just hours ago_. Kurt, who should be happy somewhere with his new boyfriend, planning their first anniversary of Going Official or whatever cheating couples call it when they're not cheating and sneaking around anymore. Yet the words on the screen of his laptop scream with raw emotion, the music begs him to do something and he just doesn't understand a thing. He finds himself in alternate reality, where one thing could potentially be different, changing everything. He remembers how insistent Kurt was, trying to contact him – _like he really, _really_ needed to talk, to explain, to ask_, he thinks guiltily. All the calls, texts, probably e-mails that got blocked, then the letters… He regrets not keeping any of them now, maybe they would enlighten him somehow.

Wait, he kept one thing! Blaine runs to the closet and pulls out the forgotten box of his things. Maybe Kurt slipped some kind of message inside… He tears through the tape, frantic. And there it is, right on top, on his favorite old hoodie folded carefully by Kurt's hands – a single sheet of thick cream paper. Blaine grabs it greedily.

_Blaine,_

_it's pretty obvious by now that you don't want to hear from me, so I promise this is my last attempt at contacting you._

_I want nothing more than to talk to you. See, I don't understand. I have no idea why the prospect of my performing an erotic scene in a play enraged you __that__ much – or if it was even the reason you left. It would help me find some sense in all of this, some closure, if I knew. It's just so unlike you!_

_But I get it – you are over me, over us, so I will try to move on too._

_Be happy, my love._

_Kurt_

Blaine forgets what air is. _A play. Performing. Erotic scene_. The pictures must have been from a rehearsal. Kurt felt guilty because he didn't tell him he considered taking a part where he would perform an erotic scene, that was it? Just that?

He finds the e-mail from Paul, his hands shaking so much he can't click it for a while. The photos, now that he looks at them critically, could easily be from a theatre. The slightly stiff postures of both men don't scream _sex_ and who would let anyone take pictures in such a situation, anyway? Not to mention, this guy is _so_ not Kurt's type. He should have seen all this immediately.

He can't wrap his mind around it. Kurt never cheated on him. It was all in his head, fuelled by someone's sick joke and his own insecurities. He _left_ Kurt because of something that wasn't real. He didn't even give him a chance of defense, no benefit of the doubt. He's been paying for it, sure – his life is shitty – but now that he saw the blog, he knows that Kurt's year hasn't been any better. Hell, it probably was worse. If leaving the love of your life hurt so bad, how much more it must have hurt to _be left_ by the love of your life, without explanation or an actual reason?

He hurt Kurt… He wanted to protect this man from everything bad in the world, forever, and he just went and delivered the hardest blow himself. He wants the earth to swallow him whole right now.

For a fraction of a second the coward in him considers leaving it all as it is, pretending he hasn't seen the blog, living the rest of his miserable life in misery and letting Kurt deal with his own, just so that he wouldn't have to confess how little faith he had in his boyfriend. But no, even the thought of leaving Kurt in pain any longer makes him nauseous (_all I need is you, come, please, I'm callin'_). He wouldn't be able to live with himself (_I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story_). He has to go find him (_all I scream for you_). He owes him the explanation and apology, if nothing else. So, so much apologies, for every day, every minute of suffering he caused. He has to go _now_ (_hurry I'm fallin'_).

He grabs his phone, wallet and keys and runs out into the warm afternoon. The obvious destination is Kurt's old dorm, but they say he doesn't live there anymore and no, they won't give Blaine his new address. Back in his car, he takes his phone. Before he has a chance to hesitate, he chooses the number he hasn't used for a year.

It goes straight to voice mail – and it's not even one of Kurt's trademark witty messages, just a generic prerecorded one.

It leaves Blaine with just one option: Rachel Berry.

It won't be easy.

It isn't.

"Blaine, why would I talk to you? You killed my friend."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

_Why would I talk to you? You killed my friend._

Panic shoots through Blaine like electrical current. He barely manages to choke out "What?"

"Well, okay, not literally. But you killed Kurt's spirit, it's just as bad! He doesn't even _sing_ anymore! You're evil, Blaine, and I'm going to hang up now."

"No, Rachel, wait!" The adrenaline rush fades, leaving him weak in the knees, and he silently curses the girl for her dramatic tendencies, but he needs her, damn it.

"Why would I?"

"Rachel, I really, really need to see Kurt. Just listen, please. I need his address. He isn't picking up his phone and I'm worried about him. It's… Well, I've just learned we had a _massive _misunderstanding, and it's been exactly a year, and… I just need to talk to him. Not to make myself feel better, I promise. I have to explain what happened. He doesn't know. He needs to know. He needs closure, Rachel."

"I don't think he'd want to see you."

"Rachel. Remember his old blog? Go look at it. I'll wait."

He can hear tapping of a keyboard, a moment of silence, muted music, a quiet _oh_. And then the address.

* * *

><p><em>That's it<em>, he thinks, getting out of his car in front of a dilapidated building. Will Kurt be home? Will he even want to talk? Only one way to check.

Blaine runs up the stairs to the last, fourth story. He knocks on the door with peeling red paint, hard – once, twice, again. After a minute he hears muffled footsteps and then the door is opening.

And there stands Kurt. So familiar and yet so very different. A year ago he wouldn't be caught dead wearing loose sweatpants and a plain long-sleeved T-shirt, yet here they are. His hair is unstyled, tousled and longer than Blaine has ever seen it. But the greatest shock is Kurt's face. Though still beautiful, it's terribly pale, unhealthily so, and gaunt, cheekbones jutting out sharply. A look of deep sadness is etched there and when Kurt realizes who stands on his doorstep, the shock settles on his face like a death mask. His eyes are huge and terrified, deep purple shadows underneath.

"Oh shit. And now I'm hallucinating" he sways and almost falls, but Blaine crosses he threshold and catches him against his own chest. "And it's not just visual. That can't be good" Kurt muses.

"Kurt? Oh god, what's wrong? You look like hell."

"Hey! Shouldn't hallucinations be nicer to their owner?"

"Are you ill? Should I take you to a hospital?" Blaine is seriously worried now. Kurt seems to be completely out of it and weak as a baby.

"No, just exhausted." Kurt's legs refuse to support him anymore, so Blaine closes the door and sits them both down on the floor, against the wall.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't do sleep. Well, I try not to. When I sleep, I dream. When I dream, I'm happy. And then I wake up and it's like dying every single time. So I don't sleep. I'd rather sleep and not wake up, but I'm not desperate enough for that solution. Except now I apparently dream when I'm awake, and I have no idea what to do about _that_."

"That's it then. You are going to bed."

"I don't think I can move."

"Fine. Where's your bedroom?"

"The door to the left. What…?" Blaine gets up and effortlessly scoops Kurt into his arms. _Too_ effortlessly. A grown man shouldn't be so light. He can feel every bone under the loose clothing.

"Now _that_ is just not possible. Hallucinations don't carry people around, you know" comments Kurt.

"Maybe I'm not a hallucination" murmurs Blaine as he enters the small bedroom and carefully lowers his precious cargo on the unmade bed. The air is stale, so he opens a window.

"Oh, believe me, you are" Kurt assures him, chuckling a little. "He wouldn't come here. He doesn't want anything to do with me, though I still don't know why. He never contacted me, you know? Not once in a year. He probably hates me."

"No. Don't even think that. I love you" Blaine says seriously, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking right into the stormy eyes.

"See, _that's_ why I love the dreams. And why I hate waking up. It seems so _real_. Like he never left. Like I was still the happiest I've ever been, with dreams and plans and _forever_'s. Like it wasn't ripped away from me one day without warning. Like I can wake up and see him beside me, and know it was all just a bad dream. And then I actually wake up and he's not there. And it hurts like hell, and I die again. Every single time." Kurt's eyes are already closed, his voice trailing off. "Could you hold me until I fall asleep?"

"Yes." Blaine swallows the tears that threaten to choke him and lays by Kurt, who moves into his embrace and melts against his chest the way he always used to do whenever they slept together. It's like coming home.

"You even smell like him" Kurt murmurs into his chest, awed. "I forgot that smell months ago. I cried for a week. And there it is. Can I keep you?"

"Of course you can." There's a contented sigh and then just deep, regular breathing, and Blaine can finally let the tears flow.

He cries silently, holding Kurt close, until he can't stop the sobs trying to rip out of his chest anymore. He carefully disentangles himself from the other boy's embrace, tucks him in carefully, and flees to the small kitchen, closing the door behind him. Only then does he let himself go completely, sobbing and choking for what feels like hours.

He's never felt so bad, ever. Not even a year ago, in that café. Now that he's seen the consequences of that day, he would do anything to reverse it, to stop his stupid self with his stupid printout and make him ask one obvious question before he goes and breaks two people. But he can't. There's no going back. The only way he can go is forward, to do whatever is in his power to make it better for Kurt, who clearly needs help, and needs it from him. So he will take his head out of his ass right now, be the friend he should have been all along and do anything, _anything_ to make the man he hurt so bad safe, whole and happy again. He will take care of him.

Tears drying on his face, Blaine takes in his surroundings for the first time since he came here. The kitchen looks unused. There's no food on the counters, the cabinets hold only vast amount of coffee and energy drinks, and the fridge is empty apart from a container of leftover Chinese and some milk. No wonder Kurt's so thin. He probably doesn't bother eating much if he's so exhausted all the time. Blaine looks around the apartment. It's tiny and dark, beside the bedroom and kitchen he's already seen there's only a bathroom that smells faintly of mold and bleach and a small living room with a mess of books and papers, dozens of them, covering every surface. Kurt's class schedule is taped to the desk in the corner and Blaine stares in shock. This past semester Kurt had classes from dawn till dusk, every day. It looks as if he tried to fill every spare hour. The workload must have been immense, leaving him no time for anything else – like sleeping, for example. Or remembering.

And now that the semester is over it probably all came crashing back, along with the anniversary of their break-up, he realizes.

It's barely 7 p.m. He knows Kurt will sleep for hours, probably all through the night, so he decides to make himself useful. He finds keys on a tabletop by the door and goes grocery shopping. After buying enough food for a couple of days, with lots of Kurt's favorites, he stops by his own apartment to grab an overnight bag with some necessities – he decided to stay with Kurt overnight and talk to him in the morning. He doesn't want to leave him alone in this state.

By the time he returns, it's dark outside and Kurt is still peacefully asleep. When all the food is finally put away, Blaine can't postpone making a decision any longer: where should he sleep? He'd love to just crawl back next to the boy he loves, but he doesn't want to make Kurt uncomfortable in the morning. Surely he wouldn't want to wake up next to his ex-boyfriend who left him with no explanation and vanished from his life for a year, only to appear on his doorstep unexpectedly now.

He's halfway to the living room couch when he recalls the words Kurt said earlier. _I wake up and he's not there. And it hurts like hell, and I die again._

No. He won't let him feel this way ever again. Not when he's already guilty of causing so much pain.

Blaine showers quickly, changes into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and slips into the warm bed, immediately embracing Kurt who just mumbles something and burrows into his arms. Falling asleep hasn't felt this good for a long time. Like, maybe a year.

* * *

><p>Blaine wakes up much earlier than Kurt, still cuddled by his side, so he has a lot of time to lie there and watch, listen, feel… just revel in the feeling that he is back where he belongs. It's almost ten when Kurt's breathing suddenly hitches and he stiffens in Blaine's arms, whimpering brokenly.<p>

There it is then, the moment Blaine dreaded at least as much as he was waiting for it. He holds Kurt tighter and whispers softly "Kurt, I'm here. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

The other boy jerks awake. His eyes are wide and uncomprehending, but he doesn't move away.

"Blaine? How…? What…? You…"

"I came here yesterday, remember? You thought I was a hallucination."

"Yeah. But… aren't you?"

"No. I'm sorry if I scared you, you asked me to stay and I didn't want you to wake up alone, so…"

"It's okay." Kurt seems to be coming to his senses now, pulling away from him and sitting up against the headboard, with his knees hugged to his chest. "But… What are you doing here? After all this time? I thought…"

"I know it will never be enough for what I did to you, but I came to apologize." Blaine is on his knees now, in front of Kurt. "I… I've made the biggest mistake of my life. And I only learned about it yesterday."

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought you were cheating on me."

"What?"

"Remember the picture I brought with me? I got it in an e-mail earlier that day, along with several others, kind of an erotic sequence with you and that guy. I don't know who sent that e-mail, but it said that you two were in love and that I should just let you go and not stand in the way of your happiness."

"But it's bullshit! It was just a rehearsal. In a theatre! And Henri was straight and happily married, for god's sake!" Color rises high on Kurt's pale cheeks as he gets agitated.

"But it didn't look this way in the pictures. The scene was captured so that it looked like you were in a room. And up until yesterday, I had no idea it wasn't real. When I saw you there… I couldn't believe you would cheat, but the evidence kept staring me in the face. The images of you, half-naked with another man, behind my back… my imagination ran wild and by the time I saw you, I was angry. Which was a mistake, I couldn't think clearly. I wanted to just ask you about it. But when you looked guilty about the picture, when you said you were going to tell me when you were certain you wanted it… It was as if you were confirming what I thought. I just snapped. I'd have probably come to my senses soon and we would have talked about it, learned about the misunderstanding, but then you said _Did you assume you are the one and only?_ And that did it, like a knife through the heart. Because that's what I believed all along, you know? That we are forever, that you are the one and only to me and that you feel the same way about me. I went there that day with keys for you, Kurt. I rented a perfect apartment… for us, I wanted to ask you to move in with me. And instead…" he can't talk anymore.

Kurt is crying openly by now, hands covering his mouth, but at that he lets out a choked sob. "Oh Blaine, no… I was just trying to say that you can't assume you are the only one with a talent to think of in this relationship… I got choked up halfway through it. Of course you were my one and only, forever. Would I look like I do now if you weren't?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

"But I tried to contact you. I called, e-mailed, texted, I even wrote letters. I wrote about the play, you should have been able to deduce that we were talking about different things that day."

"I never read any of them. I decided that I needed to sever all ties between us immediately, especially since I was supposed to let you be happy with someone else. I probably wouldn't be able to stay away if I still had any contact with you. I never looked at your texts before deleting them, I blocked your e-mail address, destroyed the letters without opening them. I even deleted all your pictures."

"And the box of your things that I asked Rachel to give you? Did you throw it away?"

"No, but I've never opened it. It sat in the back of my closet until yesterday."

"Why yesterday?"

"You know what day it was. Since I woke up, I couldn't think about anything but you. I had to see your face again and I didn't have any photos. So I went to your blog to check if all the high school pictures were still there. And there was this new entry…

I didn't understand – as far as I knew you should be long over me, happy with this other guy. And then I heard that song and I felt like I died. It tore me to pieces. I didn't know what to do, what was going on, how come you didn't know, how could you be unhappy because I left if I left so that you could be happy with someone new. Then I remembered this box and thought that maybe, just maybe, you slipped a message there. And you did. That's how I learned about how stupid I was. And here I am. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness or anything but I had to tell you everything and say how very sorry I am."

"How did you find me?"

"I begged your address out of Rachel. Quite literally."

Kurt is silent for long minutes before he says softly, slowly "This song on my blog… I barely remember putting it there. I have no idea what I wrote. I was at a really low point then. I just… Yesterday I realized that I need help, that I won't make it on my own much longer. And I had no one to tell it to. To lean on. My family… it's too much to trouble them, not with my dad's health. Rachel thinks I should have moved on long ago and just forget about it. No one else is close enough. Once I would have called you. You would have understood. I really miss having my best friend, you know? So I… I don't know, imagined I was sending it to you? I just imagined someone would notice how bad it is. And it's bad. You can see just the tip of the iceberg right now."

"Kurt…"

"I… I need a moment. Can you leave for a while? The room, not my life" he adds quickly. "I'll want to talk, I just… need a moment."

"Okay. I'll make breakfast."

"There's nothing to eat."

"There is now." Blaine smiles and goes to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him. He starts coffee and prepares a small feast – pancakes and fresh fruit, eggs and bacon, and toast. Twice he can hear desperate sobbing through the thin wall and has to fight the instinct to run to Kurt, take him in his arms and promise to fix everything. But he has to respect his wish to be alone. And he knows that, being the cause of Kurt's unhappiness, he may not be able to be the cure.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

After a while there's a sound of water running in the shower.

Kurt enters the kitchen, hair still wet, just as last of the pancakes land on the plate. In the unforgiving morning light the damage the year has done is obvious. He looks painfully thin, pale and exhausted. His hands shake visibly. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, deep shadows underneath still there, even after 18 hours of sleep. Blaine feels a fresh pang of guilt at the sight. Yet there's a shadow of a smile on Kurt's lips.

"Something smells good. I can't remember when I last ate."

"That's what I thought when I saw your kitchen."

"You didn't have to do all this, you know."

"I wanted to. Even if you hate me, I still care for you. Deeply. I really, really want to take care of you, if you let me. As a friend if nothing else. You need help, Kurt. I'm terribly worried about you."

"I don't hate you. I thought I would but… it's just not there. Anger, a lot of regret, but no hate."

"I'm glad."

They eat in silence.

* * *

><p>After breakfast they take their coffee to the living room and together clear all the books from the ratty couch. Then they sit cross-legged on opposite ends, facing each other. The silence feels awkward, heavy. They both know this talk is inevitable and potentially life-changing, so they stall. Kurt is the one to finally dive in.<p>

"You honestly believed I would cheat on you?"

Blaine sighs. "I honestly didn't. I was sure you'd give me some logical, innocent explanation and then proceed to rip my head off for doubting you. And you would have, of course, if I'd have actually asked you if it was what I thought it was."

"Yeah, well. I didn't tell you _what_ it was exactly, did I? We both screwed up."

"No, Kurt. _I_ screwed up. I doubted you for a moment. I got angry, I gave my insecurities free reign and I didn't insist we talk about it all rationally. I just ran. I cut all connections. I refused to let you explain. It's all my fault. I screwed up big time, so big that I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to fix it."

"Some things are unfixable. I think we'll have to accept it. Many things happened since we're not together and we can't erase them."

They sit in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Kurt looks up.

"Tell me about your life now."

Blaine shrugs. "Not much to tell. I study, I work. I write music for a small independent theatre and sing in several cafes. It's not much, but it pays the rent and keeps me busy."

"You don't live on campus anymore, do you? I went to your dorm the next day after… um. They told me you moved out and didn't leave the address."

"No. The apartment I told you I found for us? I'd already signed the lease. So I moved in. I thought I would hate it because I imagined us together there and everywhere I looked, I saw you. But soon it became soothing, like it was the last thing connecting me to you, somehow untainted, because it was all imagined. It's our 'what should have been' in the best of ways. And apart from that, it's just a great place, with a really nice old lady for an owner."

"I wish I could have seen it. I wish we could have lived there together, just as you imagined."

"Yeah, me too. You have no idea how much."

"So, do you have… are you with anyone?"

"No. I tried dating, but it didn't feel right so it never went beyond dinner and coffee." Blaine doesn't understand why Kurt's face seems to crumble at that. "I decided not to push myself. It would hardly be fair, anyway, when I still love you. I'm just afraid I'll never stop and end up alone for the rest of my life because no one will ever be good enough. But, well. I did it to myself, so I have no right to complain."

"Oh Blaine… You don't love me." Kurt's face is serious, apologetic.

"Yes I do. I know I acted like an ass, but it wasn't for lack of love! If anything, it was because I love you too much."

"No, it's not about that. You may love the boy you knew a year ago, the guy you left in that café, with his looks and personality, and plans, and dreams. That boy was happy and innocent, and _whole_, Blaine. I'm not. I'm broken. I may be broken beyond repair. You know nothing about my life this last year and believe me, you wouldn't say you love me if you did. Not after all that."

"So try me. Tell me. I want to know everything."

"No, you really don't. Because if you still love me, even just the memory of me, what I'd say would be really painful for you."

"As painful as it was for you to live through it? I don't think so. And I deserve painful, don't you think?" Kurt just shakes his head stubbornly.

Blaine tries a different angle. "What about people who know all about it? Your family, friends? I bet they don't care and still love you."

"They don't know. Nobody knows."

"Wait, nobody? You never told anyone what's going on with you? And nobody noticed you don't sleep, don't eat, work yourself to death?"

"No. They know I've been fairly depressed last year. Some people here might have noticed I seemed to party a bit too hard for a while. But that's it, nobody knows the whole story and I like to keep it that way. I'm a good actor. And nobody cares enough to dig deeper."

"I do. And I think you really need to tell somebody. You said it yourself: you need help. I want to help. So tell me. Please, Kurt. Just tell me."

After another moment of hesitation, he does.

* * *

><p>"When you left the café, I was stunned – what did just happen? Why did you freak out so much? Then your words sunk in and I understood you didn't just go out to clear your head and come right back. But it made no sense, so I was sure it must be some mistake. I mean, I knew about the rehearsal, so I never even thought how the picture looked out of context. I decided to give you an hour or so to cool off and then get you to talk to me and explain, because seriously - <em> no sense at all<em>. But then you didn't pick up your phone all day or answer my texts and I began to suspect it was serious. When I went to your dorm the next day and learned that you moved out, I knew it really was.

For the first couple of days I must have been in shock. I don't remember much of it, just lying on my bed and staring at my phone for hours, thinking that you would call any minute and say that you overreacted and we need to talk about it.

I couldn't understand what happened – I mean, we've never really talked about it, but knowing how comfortable you are with physicality, I thought you would be okay with the concept of certain degree of sexuality on stage. I hesitated about the offer myself, but the play was great, it had so much potential, so I considered it, decided to try the most risqué scene out before I said yes. I'd never go for full nudity, but this was more suggestive than explicit, and Henri was straight, nice and more experienced in acting, so it felt comfortable. I was going to tell you before signing the contract but after I made up my mind, so that I could hear your opinion, but not just base my own on it."

"That's sensible. And I wouldn't mind. I mean, I might have felt a bit jealous and possessive, but not to a degree where it would be a problem."

"That's exactly what I thought. But then you totally freaked out over a rehearsal photo, and you just went and _left me_. Because of a possibility of my acting in an erotic scene. It made _no_ sense. So I thought about what happened, turned it over and over in my mind as days went by and you didn't contact me at all – and I sent you dozens of texts and e-mails, and then wrote letters in case you lost your phone, forgot my number, had no internet access or something equally absurd. I was going crazy trying to understand. Finally, I came to the only logical conclusion – that you just wanted out and this was a good opportunity to end things. You know, I've always feared that I'd lose you here, with so many other options available. That I'm not good enough for you." His voice shakes and he hides his face in a couch cushion.

"Kurt? Kurt, please, look at me." The wide eyes seem very blue and bright with unshed tears. "Kurt, that's exactly what I thought about you. That you finally realized I'm not worth it and found someone better."

Kurt shakes his head incredulously. "Are you crazy? You're perfect for me." He blushes and looks away, realizing the present tense.

"Well, I must have been crazy then. And so did you. You've always been perfect for _me_."

"Not anymore."

"Let me be the judge of that. What happened next?"

"Rachel happened. Oh don't look at me like that, not this way, are you out of your mind? I'm not _that_ broken, even now.

No. It'd been two weeks and I was so depressed that my roommate decided drastic measures had to be taken. He knew that beside you, Rachel was the only person I was really close to here so he took my phone and demanded intervention. She was in her element, of course. She got all bossy. Came to the dorm like a hurricane and made me her charity project of the month. She was there every day. Made me eat, sleep, change my clothes every now and then. Made me go back to work. Sat with me when I cried or ranted. She may not be your biggest fan after that. Sorry."

"I gathered as much. Remind me to send her flowers."

"Why?"

"She helped you. She was there for you."

"Yeah, she was. And it wasn't easy, believe me. I've never been as bitchy in my life and that's saying something, don't you think? Everyone in their right mind ran and hid when they saw me after the few initial blasts of my charms. I even managed to drive Paul away and that was a feat I thought I'd _never_ manage."

Blaine's heart loses a beat at that name. "Paul?"

Kurt shrugs dismissively. "Oh, just a guy from classes. And the theatre, he worked there part time and actually told me about auditions for that play. He had a crush on me. Of epic proportions. He thought I was the love of his life, his soulmate, his other half, I just needed to realize it. He started to talk to me about marriage once! I tried to discourage him gently at first, then less so, but nothing worked. I was out of ideas on how to show him I was not interested. I guess my bitch phase opened his eyes."

"The theatre. Oh my god. Kurt, did he see that rehearsal?" Blaine feels like he can't get enough air in his lungs.

"He might have, he was always there somewhere. Why?"

Blaine reaches to his bag and takes out his laptop. He turns it on, finds the old e-mail and places the machine in front of Kurt, who scrolls through the message, eyes wide.

"Wow, they _do_ look convincing. They could almost fool me if I didn't know what I was doing there." Then he checks the sender's address and suddenly spews a string of profanities Blaine would never expect to hear from him, before shooting through the room with impossible speed. "My phone. Have you seen my phone? Oh, here. Shit, it's dead."

He returns with a charger, plugs the phone in and switches it on. The look on his face is scary. Blaine feels sorry for the person whose name Kurt just stabbed. After a few seconds the unlucky individual answers and Kurt's pale face darkens.

"Don't 'hi Kurt' me, Paul!" he snarls and Blaine stops feeling sorry and clenches his fists, trying to control anger that shoots through him like a bullet, while Kurt continues. "Paul, I want you to listen very carefully. Pray to whatever deity you believe in that I never meet you again because if I do, I'm gonna hurt you. Slowly and with great pleasure. And after I'm done with that, I'm going to destroy your life. Piece by fucking piece. And believe me, with all the things you told me and the level of hatred I feel, you will be still gathering the pieces five years from now. You know I'm perfectly capable of that, don't you? So if I were you, I'd start arranging a transfer. I heard Siberia is beautiful and it's suitably far away."

There's a beat of silence, then… "What happened? You dare to ask me what happened? I'm sitting here with Blaine, Paul. Remember Blaine? My ex-boyfriend? I'm just looking at a certain message in his inbox. Do I need to say more? No? ... What?"

Blaine can see that Kurt's breaking apart. He's shaking all over, bad, and he breathes fast enough to hyperventilate. Blaine gets up and stands in front of the other boy to stop his incessant pacing. Taking the phone out of his hand, he disconnects the pleading voice on the other end and pulls Kurt into a tight hug. He feels the thin frame tremble violently, hears the first sobs muffled by his shoulder. It's the most natural thing to sit back down, pulling Kurt into his lap like a scared child, and just sit there, stroking his back soothingly until the tears run dry and the shaking subsides, much later.

"He thought with you out of the way he'd stand a chance." Kurt's voice is rough, ragged. "He destroyed my life – both of our lives – because he couldn't take no for an answer."

Blaine doesn't say anything because really, what can he say? The truth is, it shouldn't have worked. It should have taken all of one short conversation to clear it up. Guilt is like a heavy black cloud over his head.

After a while Kurt extracts himself from his embrace.

"I'm sorry. Your shirt is soaked through."

"Don't worry about it. I have a change of clothes." Blaine goes to his bag and takes out a fresh T-shirt. He changes quickly, without thinking, and turns to find Kurt watching him with a weird expression. He laughs nervously, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable? I won't do it again if it bothers you. It's just that I'm so used to living alone now that I didn't even think. Anyway… we could eat some lunch and go for a walk, what do you think? You need a break from this talk, we'll come back to it later."

Kurt just nod silently and follows Blaine to the kitchen. They make sandwiches together and eat them in comfortable silence. A while later, when they are almost out the door, Blaine does a double take.

"Kurt, it's insanely hot today. Are you sure you don't want to wear something lighter?" Kurt still has the long-sleeved, thick cotton T-shirt on.

"No, don't worry. I'm just hardly ever warm anymore. Must be all this weight loss. Most of the time I'm freezing, even when it's hot."

They walk aimlessly for an hour, just talking, then sit in a nearby café. The conversation is easy and effortless – about classes, old friends, families. Blaine can't help feeling that he is where he was supposed to be all along. When they are walking back, Kurt asks carefully.

"When do you have to go back? You must have more important things to do than babysit me."

"Why, are you tired of me already?"

"No, not at all."

"Because if you're not throwing me out, I'd like to stay at least till tomorrow – feed you up some more, talk, you know. I called and cancelled my next gig so I'm free for two more days and even later I work mostly evenings."

"Good. That's… thank you, Blaine" Kurt says quietly.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter is potentially heartbreaking. It's the darkest one in the whole story. Just sayin'.

Also, it contains mentions of self-harm.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 6<p>

Back at the apartment, with glasses of juice in hand, they return to the earlier conversation.

"So Rachel took care of you, you were depressed and bitchy…"

"Yeah. I forced myself to work, but hardly did anything otherwise – mostly just lay in bed and stared at the wall. I declined the role and stopped going for auditions. I didn't care, I wasn't good enough anyway."

"Kurt, that's not true…"

"That's what I believed, I've convinced myself completely by then. Close to the end of July Rachel found me snuggling in your favorite hoodie and decided it was time I tried to move on. We gathered all your things and packed them so that she could give them back to you. Then she sat me in front of the computer and made me look for an apartment. She was really determined. A week later I was already here. A few days after that she burst in stating that I_ had to_ move on because you certainly had – meeting her all dressed up and smiley, and running right out because there was someone waiting for you in your car."

Blaine almost smacks his forehead. "Shit. I knew I made up a lame excuse but I couldn't remember what it was. I couldn't think straight, I was so focused on getting out of there – otherwise I'd have started asking Rachel about this new man of yours and if he makes you happy, if he's good enough for you, better than me… I feared I'd slip and say how freaking miserable I was, and you'd feel guilty. So I fled."

"So there was no one waiting for you in the car that day?"

"I didn't even go there by car. And the only thing waiting for me at home was a bottle of tequila. I knew I'd need it."

"Well, anyway, Rachel was all indignant that you were dating already, and frankly, I was suddenly furious – that confirmed my suspicions that you just wanted me out of the way. I decided I'd had enough moping and proceeded to prove to myself that even if you didn't want me, I could have any man I wanted."

"O-oh…"

"I went to a gay bar that night and chose the best looking, most interesting man there. And seduced him. He seemed unapproachable but I was on a mission. In a couple of hours I had him at my feet and it felt amazing, like I had all the power, all the control in the world. It was intoxicating. We met every day after that. I've never planned to keep him, of course, but he entertained me and was good for my self-esteem. So what if I had to get a little drunk before he could even touch me? At least I didn't have much time to think about you and when I was wasted, I didn't dream about you."

Blaine feels lightheaded. "So… you were in a relationship after all."

"Not really. I got tired of him after three weeks, when he started talking about 'us' and making plans. I broke his heart and never looked back. That same night I found another one, out of the VIP list. He lasted two weeks. Careful Blaine, don't choke to death. Yes, I did it again. And again. And again. For months. It didn't always work, but in most cases I got whom I wanted. Always the finest specimen, always made them crazy about me before I left them. I was never able to have sex with any of them while sober, so I drank a lot. Almost every day. And my tolerance period was getting shorter – I changed men once or twice a week by the time it all came crashing down in December. Blaine, you look sick. I told you it was a bad idea. I should stop."

"Don't. I'll survive."

"As you wish. I was having trouble at school by then, since I missed classes or turned up hung-over so often. I also started to have a reputation in some of the clubs. Some men knew about me by then and kept their distance, so sometimes I had to content myself with second best. And frankly, it was all much less satisfying than at the beginning. I found myself thinking about you more and more, and other than boosting my self-esteem, forgetting you was about the only reason to do it in the first place. So – see, I've become a slut" – he finishes bitterly. "For the record, no one was ever as good as you."

Blaine's knuckles are white as he holds his glass almost tight enough to break it. He feels as if someone punched him in the stomach. Kurt notices and gently takes the glass out of his hand.

"Are you sure you want to hear the rest? It gets worse, you know. Or I think it does, anyway."

Blaine has trouble squeezing his voice out through the tightly clenched throat, but he manages a hoarse _yes_.

"Okay." Kurt looks straight into his eyes as he speaks. "One morning in December I woke up in a dingy motel room, naked, sore and alone. The guy I met in the club the previous night had already left, he didn't even leave a phone number. The sheets were stained, I was covered in bruises and bite marks, so the sex must have been rough, I didn't remember much. And there was… um… let's just say that the condoms lay untouched on the bedside table."

Blaine gasps and Kurt hugs his knees to his chest, his eyes downcast now, as he continues.

"You must understand – I had two rules that I always enforced, no matter what: I never took guys home and I never did anything without protection. Never. But then… I must have been too drunk, because I didn't make sure. After that, I never went to a club again, never hooked up with anyone. It scared the living shit out of me, how reckless I became. How self-destructive."

"Was he… Are you…" the words keep getting stuck in Blaine's mouth.

"Sick? No. I'm fine. I got tested three times in proper intervals, for everything. I'm fine. I was lucky. But all this time of uncertainty… it was hell."

Blaine lets out a shuddering breath, his mind reeling.

Kurt barely pauses before continuing.

"And then I started cutting."

"What?"

"I was scared to death of the STDs I may have contracted, I finally realized how much trouble I was in at school, I didn't drink or hook up anymore, so I had way too much time and clarity of thought. And I missed you like crazy – not just as a boyfriend, but as my best friend. It was as if I had this huge Blaine-shaped hole in my life. I kept tripping and falling into it wherever I went. I really had no one I could honestly talk to about all this, even Rachel couldn't stand my new lifestyle and hardly ever had time for me. I was always alone, even when surrounded by people. I was miserable. Life _hurt_, you know? Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought was painful.

And then one day I accidentally cut my hand with an X-acto knife while opening a box. It was amazing. I've read somewhere once that the only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain, but I never really believed it. And yet the pain dulled everything else for a while – the thoughts, feelings, self-hatred, for a moment it was just pure physical pain and it was _so_ much easier to deal with than all the rest.

So I cut again, deliberately this time, slow and shallow, and it was even better because I _controlled_ it. I couldn't control almost anything in my life at that point, but this – I decided about this and it was such a relief. Ever since that day I cut whenever I couldn't stand it all anymore, when life was unbearable. I quickly realized that cuts on my arms would be way too easily noticeable, so it's not a good place. Which is why my thighs look pretty much as if they went through a shredder."

Blaine can't believe what he's hearing, his head is spinning with the amount of awfulness Kurt – his sweet, innocent Kurt – is revealing to him. It's too abstract to be true.

"Show me" he hears himself whisper.

And Kurt must have passed the line of trying to spare him or hide anything, because he is getting up and pulling his jeans down – the act not the least bit sexual in the light of their conversation – and his thighs are on display, thinner than ever and pale, and, oh god, each crisscrossed with dozens of thin, parallel scars. They run horizontally, vertically, diagonally, in various stages of healing – most are white and fading, but there are some relatively fresh, pink. Blaine finds himself staring with his mouth open until his vision blurs, and he realizes tears are streaming down his face. _My fault, my fault, my fault_, whispers a voice in his mind. _So much self-hatred, so much pain… all my fault._

Kurt pulls his jeans back up and sits closer.

"I'm sorry. I told you it's bad."

"I know, I just can't believe… God, I'm such a bastard! You could have gotten really hurt, you could have _died_, Kurt," a shadow flies across Kurt's face for a second, then disappears, "either by cutting too deep or in this motel, hell, any other night with a stranger. You could have died and I wouldn't even know." Sobs shake Blaine at the realization.

"Okay, first of all, I've never been actually suicidal. I couldn't do it, it's against my nature to just say _fuck you_ to everyone and check out. I cut shallow, just breaking skin, just enough to hurt. And second of all… if anything happened, you'd probably know. I kind of… still have you listed as an emergency contact everywhere. I haven't even thought to change it for months and then I procrastinated about it so long that I still haven't done it. So yeah, you'd know at least."

The thought of a phone call in the middle of the night, some stranger telling him that Kurt is dead or gravely injured, just makes Blaine cry harder. Kurt touches his hand gently.

"Hey, I didn't die, I'm still here. I actually got it mostly under control. I had to really push myself academically if I didn't want to fail half of my classes, and I couldn't bear to be even more of a disappointment, so I gave it my all. Soon I realized that when I was really focused, I was good. I cut less. I managed to pass everything and the next semester I took as many classes as I could fit into my schedule. I literally had no time for anything else. It was good. Sometimes I forgot to eat, but I didn't mind. The only problem was sleep – I didn't have much time for it but every time I dreamt, there you were, usually in some beautiful memories from our past or a vision of our future together, and I woke up shaken and shattered. So I slept less and less. I drank insane amounts of coffee, still do, and for a time it was enough to keep me alert and focused, but it couldn't last forever.

Now I can't even escape into books anymore since the exams ended. I have too much time and too much in my head and I'm just _so_ fucking _tired_. Lately it got to the point where it becomes dangerous. I think I'm losing it, physically and mentally. I seem to be more self-destructive than ever, even if it's not conscious. I get lost in thought and cross the street on a red light, without looking. I go out in the middle of the night, just to have a walk, almost as if I wished to be mugged. I don't eat, don't sleep. Frankly, I just don't care. I won't kill myself but I don't mind if I die, you know. I really don't have much to live for."

Blaine asks quietly, his voice ragged. "Even now?"

Kurt's expression is almost apologetic.

"Yes. Don't get me wrong. It's good to have some questions answered and having you here is amazing. But I know it won't last. I can't change my past. I'm out of hope. Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, you will walk out of here and never come back. I told you I'm broken, I've got too much baggage to hope for a happy ending anymore. I can see that I scared you. Don't worry. I understand. I won't try to find you again."

Blaine grabs his hands and looks into the stormy eyes, deeply, sincerely.

"Kurt? I'm not going anywhere. Did you scare me? Hell yes! I have so many different feelings right now that I can't even _begin_ to make sense of them. But I know one thing for certain: you are my best friend. I should have manned up long ago and acted like one, because it's never been just words with us. I should've called you last summer, taken you out for coffee and let you bitch about that bastard that left you without explanation. I couldn't do it and I'm sorry. But I'm here now. And whatever else does or doesn't happen between us, I'm never leaving my best friend again. That's a promise, Kurt."

"Really?" Breathless. Hopeful.

"Really. You're not getting rid of me and nothing is going to change that."

There's a pause when Kurt looks raw, vulnerable, like he's fighting with himself. Then he speaks quietly.

"There's one last thing I need to tell you. Show you."

There's a silent plea in Kurt's eyes and Blaine's insides twist in anguish. This is somehow worse than everything he's heard so far, he can feel it. But how can it be even worse?

"This…" Kurt sounds unsure now, frightened. "This is why I posted this song yesterday. This is why I realized I can't do it by myself anymore."

He slowly pulls up his left sleeve. Blaine gasps, horrified. There's a fresh deep gash running diagonally across the inside of the pale forearm. This is definitely not just a shallow cut.

"Kurt! You said you wouldn't…"

"Not consciously. I just… I was going out of my mind yesterday, nothing helped, so I cut" he points to a cluster of shallow red lines higher up his arm. "But yesterday it didn't help. The pain was nothing compared to the heartache. So I just pressed harder… and harder… It was as if I had no control over my hand. I couldn't stop. And then I was sitting in the bathroom and blood was streaming down the sink. I was afraid I won't be able to stop the bleeding and all I could think of was calling you for help. I even got out of there, pressed the cut with a towel and took the phone. But I couldn't call you. I knew if you didn't pick up or told me you didn't care, I'd go right back to that knife and not stop this time.

So when the bleeding stopped, I went to the computer instead and wrote on the blog. It was my final call to you. I knew there was virtually no chance you'd ever find it, and certainly not before I'd finally manage to do something stupid enough to kill me somehow. It was just stalling really. Yet… here you are."

Blaine doesn't say anything. He can't. It's too much.

He silently thanks any deity that led him yesterday, before he goes to the kitchen, only to return with a big bar of chocolate he added to his shopping cart last night on a whim. Kurt looks at him, stunned.

"Well, when you donate blood, they give you chocolate, right? So after the blood loss you probably need it. Open up" he presses a chunk of chocolate against Kurt's lips. "Hey, don't laugh at me, I'm trying to be helpful any way I can. I'm a bit overwhelmed right now, so chocolate is the only thing that came to mind, but I'll find a way to really help. I promise."

"You already helped" Kurt says softly.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This is the last, short chapter. Look, finally some fluff after all this angst :)

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you liked the story - this is the first time I've shown any of my writing to anyone and I'd love to know what you think :)

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 7<p>

Dinner – Blaine makes simple pasta and salad – is a quiet affair, but they are comfortable with each other. Kurt looks looser somehow, more relaxed, as if the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders. They spend the evening talking, never out of topics, like they were trying to make up for the year of non-communication. Frankly, they are. Finally Kurt starts yawning in the middle of sentences and it's time for bed.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"No. Would you mind sleeping with… um, next to me again? It would…"

"… make the waking up better? Sure."

They carefully keep their distance in bed, but just before his breathing evens out, Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand in the darkness. It fits as perfectly as ever.

Blaine keeps thinking, considering, weighing his emotions long into the night, holding Kurt's hand like an anchor. When he falls asleep hours later, he already has a plan.

* * *

><p>A soft gasp wakes him up in the morning, then a cool hand on his cheek. Somehow they ended up entangled in each other.<p>

"You're really here" he hears a soft whisper and opens his eyes to find Kurt's amazed face inches from his own. He feels his body react to the proximity, the familiar smell and touch he missed all along, and he adjusts his hips minutely, so that Kurt doesn't notice.

"Hi" he smiles. "So who showers first?"

It's so easy, their morning together, making breakfast, lazy conversation over coffee. It's just as it was supposed to be a year ago, and Blaine feels last of the doubts concerning his plan disappear.

"Okay, I want to ask you something" he says after they finish clearing up the dishes, and he can see anxiety snapping right back into Kurt's relaxed features, his shoulders tensing momentarily. They sit at the tiny kitchen table, coffee in their hands.

"Kurt, how much do you care about this place?"

"What?" It's evidently not a question he's been expecting.

"Your apartment. How much do you like it?"

"Honestly? I hate it. It's shabby, it's overpriced and it's seen the worst year of my life. Why?"

"Your lease should be up soon if I'm correct?"

"Next month. Again, why?"

"Will you move in with me?" After Kurt jokingly accused him of trying to kill him with his first _I love you_ years ago, Blaine learned not to say important things when the other person is swallowing. Which is a good thing, because right now Kurt manages to choke on air, without any additional help.

"What?" he exclaims as soon as he stops coughing.

"It's a two-bedroom apartment, so that's not a problem. I've just prolonged the lease for another year. It's much nicer than this one and the neighborhood is safer. And it would be easier for both of us, financially. But what's most important, we could spend more time together this way, and I could be there for you whenever you need me. You know, make sure you sleep and eat properly, since you really seem to have no idea how to take good care of Kurt" he winks. "I told you, you're my best friend and I want you back in my life. I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, it would be just sharing the apartment with your friend. And I'm not a difficult flatmate, I promise."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"Say yes. Please, please say yes."

"Yes."

"Really?" Blaine can't control the crazy grin.

"Yes. Really. Oh god, really. I can't believe it. You really want me back in your life."

"Of course I do! I told you. Now, finish your coffee and let's go get some boxes to start packing."

"What, now?"

"Why wait? We'll move you today. I don't want you out of my sight and I have time today to help you pack. Let's just do it, what do you say?"

"Okay…" Kurt looks a bit dazed.

* * *

><p>They are done by six and Kurt loves the apartment, just as Blaine always knew he would. They go for a celebratory dinner to a nearby Italian place and over desserts Blaine passes his new flatmate a black velvet box.<p>

"It's been waiting for you."

Kurt can't speak through the tears.

* * *

><p>On the third night of waking up every few hours to the choked screams or sobs coming from the second bedroom, Blaine just gathers Kurt in his arms without waking him up and carries him to his own bed. It's huge and they are both much more rested this way, so they end up sleeping together every night afterwards. It's just practical, okay? If they wake up in each other's embrace each morning, neither complains.<p>

* * *

><p>They are good together. They fit. They are comfortable sharing their space. They are close, but not intimate. They are best friends.<p>

Kurt goes with Blaine to one of his gigs one night and they end up singing some killer duets. Soon they perform together almost every time. People love it. They even start to develop their own fan base.

* * *

><p>One day over lunch in a local café, when Kurt goes to the restroom, two handsome men come up to their table.<p>

"Hey man. Sorry to interrupt. You don't know us, but we just wanted to offer a word of warning. We've seen you're with Kurt."

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up.

"He's amazing, but don't fall for him, if you haven't already. He's going to break your heart. It's not worth it. Believe us, we've both been there."

Oh. So they must be among Kurt's last year conquests… Blaine just smiles.

"I think I'll take my chances."

* * *

><p>It's August and they are on a picnic in the park. It's a beautiful warm day and they have everything they need – the checkered blanket, wicker basket with food and lemonade, books. They both look better, happier, more relaxed than two months ago. They feel better too. They really feel quite good actually. Kurt has gained some weight and the diagonal scar on his forearm begins to fade. There are no new ones anywhere on his body. His problems are far from gone, but he isn't alone anymore, and Blaine made him promise to always come talk to him when things get worse, so he does. It helps. His eyes are sparkling now and he laughs easily. Blaine can't take his eyes off him.<p>

These past two months, they've spent countless hours talking, about everything. Kurt knows that Blaine still feels guilty, probably always will. Blaine is aware that Kurt still believes he'll never be good enough after all he's been through. They both know they still love each other in spite of everything, probably deeper than ever, and neither wants anyone else.

That day in the park they decide they've lost enough time already. It won't always be easy, they will probably argue and doubt themselves (but never each other), they will have problems and fight their demons, but they will always, always talk. And it will always be worth it.

When they kiss, it tastes like peaches and lemonade and new beginnings.


End file.
